


Forever and Always

by bythemoonlight



Series: Sterek One Shots [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Heartbreak, I Made Myself Cry, I hate myself, M/M, Oh god, Sad, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythemoonlight/pseuds/bythemoonlight





	Forever and Always

The scalding water hits Stiles's back like knives, the searing sensation giving him at least something to feel. He stands in the shower, staring at the white tile of the wall, almost completely numb. With each passing second he feels as if his heart snaps into smaller pieces. His knees are weak from standing, his arms heavy, his lids droopy, his eyes stinging with new tears. He finally leans against the wall, letting him slip to the floor. The water hits his face as he closes his eyes and let's himself cry.

 

He can't tell the water from his tears, but he doesn't care. The tub is cold, but he doesn't care. The water is slowly getting cold, but he doesn't care. He's turned the water to the 'hot' direction countless times, but he doesn't care. He's been in the shower for two hours, but he doesn't care.

 

The water is freezing when he starts to sob, and he doesn't want to move from the spot on the shower floor. His mind gifts him memories of the countless, steamy, kisses shared in this shower, the few times sex had been had, the few comforting holds, and the endless tears.

 

He doesn't want to remember any of it, it's unbearable. He tries to shove the memories out, to lock them away forever, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can't do it. It only makes him remember more. He feels like his world has ended, and to him, it has. He can barely muster enough strength to finally turn off the icy water, to stand, to wrap a towel around himself, to walk back into his bedroom.

 

He glances at the bed, the small pile of clothes that didn't belong to him at the foot of it, the scarf on the bedpost, the leather jacket hanging on the back of his closet door, the black boots peeking out from under the bed, the duffel bag that remains half open and half packed.

 

He turns away, another lump forming in his throat. He glances at the mirror above his dresser, and he barely recognizes the pale, skin-and-bone figure that is supposed to be his reflection. Sunken cheeks and eyes and a nearly visible ribcage prove how little he's been taking care of himself since...

 

He closes his eyes, hoping that when he opens them, everything will be okay, and he'll see a pair of bright green eyes, open and wide and excited to see him. His stomach twists, and he feels like throwing up. He leans against the dresser for support, taking a deep, shaky breath. Opening his eyes to look at himself, he knows he isn't himself. Who is the man staring back at him? What has he become?

 

He can't cry again, not so soon, anyways. This is ridiculous. He tries to compose himself, to get himself dressed, but he can barely even pull clean clothes out of his drawer.

 

There's a knock on the door, and Stiles spins around, his mind immediately thinking, "he's back". The door opens and Stiles holds his breath.

 

"Stiles?"

 

Stiles's bottom lip trembles, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks, crushing disappointment filling him. He wipes his eyes as his friend, Scott, walks in, one step at a time.

 

"Stiles, no." He whispers, not caring about himself as he pulls a sill rather wet Stiles in for a tight hug. Stiles can barely hug back as he begins to cry. "Fuck. You gotta stop, Stiles. We're all so damn worried. You have to stop, for us."

 

"I can't!" Stiles chokes out. "I loved him! More than my own fucking life!" Stiles's grip around Scott tightens. "I loved him..."

 

Scott himself tries not to tear up at the obvious pain in his friends voice. "I know you did. And he loved you too. I don't know what happened. But Stiles, it's been almost a month now. I-" Scott bites his lip, listening as Stiles's cries get more and more painful and heartbroken. "You just...you just gotta stay strong for all of us, Stiles. We're all upset but...you have to be strong."

 

"Fuck. I can't. I can't." Stiles whispers. "I can't." He repeats. Scott holds Stiles's shoulders and gently holds Stiles in front of him.

 

"Stiles. You can get through this. You can get through it. He'd want you too." Scott says sternly through a thin composed veil. Stiles wipes his eyes, trying his best to compose himself.

 

"Okay. Okay." He murmurs. Scott kisses his cheek, nodding.

 

"We're going for dinner now, so um...get dressed, we're waiting." He whispers before patting Stiles's shoulder and walking out. Stiles watches him, then stares at the door, holding his breath. He exhales when the door clicks closed, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He goes back to his dresser and pulls out underwear, putting it on, then going to closet.

 

His fingers brush the sweater's sleeve, and his breath hitches. He tries his best to ignore the article of clothing, but he can't. He pulls it off the hook and brings it up to his nose.

 

It still smells like him.

 

He takes a shirt and clean black jeans out of his closet and pulls them both on, then takes the sweater, looks at it, then puts it on, letting the familiar, comforting scent envelope him. He closes his eyes for a second, just taking in the smell. He sighs, opens his eyes, then grabs his socks and shoes and pulls them on.

 

He doesn't even want to go to dinner, but his friends have been worried, and think that a little time away from the house would be good for him. He doesn't agree.

 

He walks out of his room, afraid to face the face he's forgotten about the past month, the face he hasn't spoken a single word to. As he appears in front of them, the other boy smile.

 

"Stiles, hey buddy." Isaac says, a big smile on his face. "Man, we missed you." He hugs Stiles, and Stiles mindlessly hugs back.

 

"Missed you, too." He murmurs, forcing a tight smile.

 

"So we ready?" Isaac says excitedly. "We haven't been to this restaurant in ages, the last time we went was when you and Der-"

 

Isaac is interrupted when Scott smacks his hand over his mouth, and Stiles's face screws up, and Scott quickly drags Isaac out, then returns after giving Isaac a short talk.

 

"Fuck, Scott, you knew he would do that!" Stiles chokes, pointing to the direction in which Isaac was pulled away. "Why did you invite him?"

 

"Because he's our friend, Stiles, and he missed you. Can we just go and forget about it?" Scott says, glancing at the front door. Stiles reluctantly nods, shaking his head and walking out.

 

Stiles couldn't eat. Each time he tried to swallow, a lump in his throat got in his way, preventing him from eating. It was the first time he's touched food in four days, so it didn't come as a surprise to the boys when Stiles put his fork down when the meal just began. They tried to convince him to eat a little more, and Stiles insisted he couldn't, but to make them feel better, nibbled on a piece on bread, chewing it to minuscule pieces just to be able to swallow it.

 

When the meal was over, Isaac apologized for his earlier comment, and said how much he missed Stiles, and told Scott that he should take care of Stiles, to which Scott simply rolled his eyes. Stiles barely cracked a smile.

 

On the ride home, Stiles stares blankly out the window, his arm tucked slightly under his head as he leans against the window, and Scott is silent. Both Scott and Stiles's stomach twist when they drive slowly past the graveyard, and Stiles just stares, his eyes growing wide.

 

Stiles can barely look at it a second before quickly turning away.

 

Unfortunately, the light turns red, and Stiles is forced to see the wretched place for just a little longer. He quickly grabs his phone, starting to feel panicked, fresh tears stinging in his eyes, and scrolls through his contact list until he finds his number, and presses 'dial'. Stiles let's it ring, and he nearly throws up when he is greeted by a sickening voicemail message:

 

"Hi, it's Der-"

 

"And Stiles."

 

He laughs. "Okay, it's Derek and Stiles. I can't-"

 

"We can't!"

 

"We, can't reach you right now, so please leave a message and we will get right back to you."

 

Stiles tries not to burst into tears, and Scott is thankful when the light turns green.

 

"Stiles, I'm sorry-"

 

"Please don't be," he starts, wiping his slightly wet eyes. "I just...I miss him so damn much." He lays his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "I miss him."

 

Stiles lays in bed, hugging Derek's pillow close to him, trying to stop crying for one Goddamn second. He hasn't stopped since they got home. He hates himself for being so damn weak, but he can't help it. He was so in love with Derek even being away for a minute hurt him.

 

They were going to get married. Derek had even said so the first time they'd made love on this bed, and Stiles remembers feeling so immensely overjoyed he couldn't stop smiling for days. He'd even spotted a ring glimmering in Derek's hand only four months later.

 

He brings his knees to his chest, the memory becoming painful. His heart pounds against his chest, his whole body shaking. He finally breaks the strangling grip on Derek's pillow when it becomes damp with tears, and he shoves it away from him, pulling himself into a sitting position. He glances over at his phone which rests peacefully on his nightstand.

 

He picks it up, turning it over in his hands, sniffling. He scrolls through his contact list again, and his finger hovers over Derek's name, which he put a few dumb emoji hearts next to. He shakes his head at his own silliness and presses dial hesitantly. He shakily brings his phone to his ear and listens as the phone rings, and rings, and rings, and he's once more brought back to the voicemail.

 

It plays, and Stiles finds himself aching to hear Derek's voice again, just one last time, hearing him say, "I love you Cal, forever, just like I promised." Like he had when Stiles had seen Derek without bracelets for the first time. Deep down, Stiles knew, but he wasn't ready to accept it. He thought he helped him, he truly did. Stiles sets the phone down, laying his head against the wall.

 

He didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want to leave Derek's side. He didn't want to go home that night. He knew something was wrong. He should've stayed.

 

He didn't want to walk into that hospital at 2 am in the morning, confused and half asleep, to see Derek on the brink of death. He didn't want to sit next to him and hold his hand right and pray that Derek made it out okay. And he sure as hell didn't want to watch him die.

 

But that was inevitable. It all happened, and Stiles doesn't want to say goodbye. Not yet. He wishes the room would swallow him whole, would drag him six feet under right next to Derek.

 

He calls Derek's phone several more times that night, just wishing he'd said "goodbye" one more time, said "I love you with all my heart" one more time, said "I'll miss you" one more time. He wishes he had one more night for all of this. But without it, he's left to his deafening thoughts, his pain, and overall his guilt. He should've helped.

 

He let's himself sit there for an hour before he gets up, walking over to the sweater he discarded on the floor in front of his dresser and pulls it on. He takes in the scent, like he had only hours ago, and lays down in it. He puts his hands in the pockets, and is surprised to feel a folded piece of paper in the right pocket. How did he not notice it before?

 

He takes it out, sitting up again. He sees "Stiles" written on the front with a little heart next to it. Stiles's hands begin to shake when slow realization of what this note is fills his mind. He unfolds it. The first word he reads is:

 

"Babe,

 

Damn. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say except that. I don't know what I'm doing right now, really, but I feel like I'm going fucking insane, and I can hardly breathe."

 

Derek's handwriting gets a little sloppier, quicker.

 

"I never wanted to write you a letter like this, never one like this. But here I am, going back on my promise to myself that I would never leave you like this."

 

Stiles's heart, if possible, breaks even more.

 

"Remember when I said we were going to get married? I had it all planned out. I would get down on one knee in front of the guys and watch them laugh at me as I said, "Stiles Stilinski, you're the literal love of my life and I want to have you for the rest of my life, however short or long that may be." I was a week away from asking."

 

Stiles covers his mouth with his hand.

 

"I love you with all my heart, Stiles, never ever ever forget that, even when I'm gone. I swore I would love you forever, and that's how it's going to be. I love you now, and I'll love you then. But for now, only for now, I'm saying goodbye. It's the first, last, and only time I'll ever say goodbye to you, because is promised I would never say goodbye.

So, Stiles Stilinski, will you marry me as my going away gift?

 

-Derek xx"

 

Stiles chokes down a sob when he sees the ring taped to the bottom of the page. He slowly takes the it off the paper, turning it over in his hand a little, surprised to see a small engraving on the inside.

 

"Forever, like I promised."

 

He shakes his head, smiling through his tears, and slips the ring on, kissing it.

 

"I've never loved anyone as much as I loved you, Derek." He whispers to nothing. He slowly folds the paper back up, putting it in his nightstand. He lays back down, closing his eyes, pulling the sweater up around his head a little. He takes a deep breath, imagining Derek was right there with him, finding relief in the thought. He realizes then that he doesn't feel as much pain as he did before. If anything, he felt at ease. He manages to fall asleep easily that night.


End file.
